Breach

In the chair,
Where I am now,
With this brown leather case on my lap,
And the sun on my back,
I can hear the wind in the pines,
The birds,
And a car.

On this veranda,
Where I am,
I know,
I feel,
That we are past.
Especially since,
And it was I that suggested the metaphor,
I had shrunk.

We are strangers again;
Reduced to islands,
Bridges drawn,
Separate,
Scattered,
And foolish now,
Too,
I think,
As tempting as it is to attempt a crossing.

And now that we're disconnected,
A wind bares down,
Deep,
Into this uncrossable river,
Wide enough ahead of me from where I am,
The two of us,
No longer together.

But,
In the realm Of the finished,
Where walls can be breached,
The end that is open...
Is an end that can once more
Brings us together.